'truly madly deeply' she wrote
a version of panic
very bespoke
like a chewed lip, a rampart, a fully maddening world
outright
out with
out what?
out!
they broke
they ran
flying crazily wild
a dog aping sideways
tooth and nail knew
through tight frantic corner
bump and skelter they ran
bruise through going nowhere
bump skelter they ran
bump skelter ran
they ran.
i’m crying for you
crying out for you
crying out to you
hoping
you’ll come through
for me
—
gobbo gobbo nasty
ball point pen
beat tricks and vanquish mire
let me go
==
truffle i found
pig in my snout
a sweet rotten plum
fungi plum
——
call me please do
with your awry guttering voice
i like it i do
the ribbed and the ridged
give it to me when you come to visit me please do
a shudder and a kind word too
like you really mean it
kind and nice like you
really mean it
like you
call me anyway
back way and you
can always find me
by a trip
a visit
a knock
the bell
window too
rattle or meet
me in the street
by a seat
in my heat
you know it is true.
call me call me
you know it’s true
once upon a time a long time ago in a place felt more than remembered,
there lived a dog called simon.
simon was vicious, renown for his teeth and grim face,
scarred though never lost in battle. so he said,
and all believed him who listened.
few got close enough to listen.
his viciousness was triggered by proximity.
only one foolish small dog
walked nearby.
a whimpering little mutt that mostly ate garbage
and quivered in the rain.
little mutt was called benjamin,
though no body called him that.
they just laughed or kicked,
or like simon, ignored.
benjamin was simon’s shadow.
always behind, hidden,
quick to avoid observation.
the two lived on the wasteland behind the new village,
where trucks occasionally passed to dump rubbish.
there they died of dysentery.
i arrived home late last night
and it was gone
2 weeks ago i saw it
now not a stir
it’s nest is dead
all old eggs broken
no new eggs laid for 2 weeks or more.
i cannot remember the last egg.
i stop and i stare
at the land unturned
plants growing fresh
under none gyrated skies
fresh shoots uneaten. not pecked.
the chicken is gone
the chicken is dead
long live the chicken
Turning over & starting again
he lay in bed with
a shifty neighbour
kicking, thrashing, writhing, snoring
An eel in the sack with a voice
Uncommunicative & foul
He'd seen her on the toilet and he ran away
to afraid to believe
she was a vessel, processing
A pit, mechanism
he'd hoped for angel, without holes
he'd gotten the same as him.
And now in bed
he heard the word spoken
seen the grin in the candlelight
her sleeping body grimacing
the word over & over
over again
'work, work, work.'
& he cried till he felt so bitter
She stood tall, though short
smiled with a frown
and was drunk endlessly, smoking like a trooper
At first he feared her smell
Now he liked it
She came and went
Infrequently when she pleased
He stopped saying no and making her cry
Overwhelmed by her interest
He gave up fighting
It will come and go, rise and fall, grow and shrink.
Become accustomed and then unaccustomed
the grief will equal the belonging
Until they are released.
sounds from the gradual invention of a serendipitous search engine
